The Felon's Red Veil
by aptasi
Summary: I've always wondered what she hides behind that hat of hers.


Summary: I've always wondered what she hides behind that hat of hers.

Disclaimer: I own neither Carmen Sandiego nor The Minister's Black Veil. I'm just a fanfiction writer. All hail the rightful owners.

Dedication: To .elphie feel better!

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"**What, but the mystery which it obscurely typifies, has made this piece of crape so awful? When the friend shows his inmost heart to his friend; the lover to his best beloved; when man does not vainly shrink from the eye of his Creator, loathsomely treasuring up the secret of his sin; then deem me a monster, for the symbol beneath which I have lived, and die! I look around me, and, lo! on every visage a Black Veil!"**

**The Minister's Black Veil by Nathanial Hawthorne

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I've never seen her face.

Weird, isn't it?

All those nights of waiting next to her in the dark, running by her side as sirens blare and guns fire, and being saved by her when some stupid move got me caught… I've never once gotten a good look at Carmen.

The fedora never slips and the shadows never draw back at just the right moment. I don't even know the color of her eyes.

It never bothered me before, but now I wonder. Is it stupid to dedicate my life, my loyalty, to someone who doesn't even care enough to look me in the eye?

Why do it? Because she pays well? Because I fear her? Or is it because, veiled or not, she treats me with more kindness that anyone else I know?

I'm still curious. Why would someone so confident and charismatic choose to hide from the world?

I've heard my fellow employees infer that Carmen must be horrible disfigured. There have been rumors about a fire when she was a child that may or may not have left scars about her forehead and eyes. I hear she even wore wide brim hats when she was at ACME, but I don't believe the speculation. Who knows why Carmen is who she is?

Still, it's eating at me tonight. As my boss sits behind her desk, with the light lows and the brim of her hat pulled down as usual, I feel exasperated. What is she hiding?

So, when Carmen asks me what I'd like as a bonus for my latest innovation, a nifty bit of machinery involving lasers, I say something stupid.

"I'd like to see your face."

My boss gasps, and I immediately start stammering, claiming that it was all a joke. Then, she pauses, and I realize with shock that she's considering it.

"You don't have many friends." She observes.

I don't know how this conversation became about me, but I answer. "My machines are enough." At least she knows I won't spread it around. I may listen to gossip, but I never start it. No one would listen to me anyhow.

"How long have you worked for me?" She asks.

"Eight years next May." I answer, wondering if three quarters of a decade is enough to merit a look at her.

Apparently, it is.

My boss presses a button to close her office door. She removes her hat and pulls back her hair, holding it in one hand. Finally, Carmen turns on the light, leaning forward so that it brazenly illuminates her face.

Her eyes stare straight into mine.

No one could ever accuse Carmen of doing things halfway.

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Well, she certainly isn't disfigured.

Carmen's skin is smooth and her facial structure has a symmetry that anyone would covet. Her eyes are blue and the left one has a slight ruby streak through the iris. High proud cheekbones seem fitting on her. So do slender, gently sloping, eyebrows.

My first thought is that she covers up to keep us from being distracted. How could anyone get work done with this gorgeous creature strutting around.

But then I look… really look… into her eyes.

All at once, I experience an overwhelming myriad of emotions. There's so much spirit, pain, intensity, intelligence, and exhaustion in her gaze. I can hardly bear to meet it.

Above all, Carmen has extraordinarily sad eyes.

This is the face of someone with a shattered heart.

I know now why she keeps it covered.

Carmen nods, the slightest movement, an acknowledgment that I've seen what she intended.

She waits for me to break eye contract, and when I do, she turns the lamp off and returns her hat to her brow.

I fidget awkwardly.

"Back to work." She instructs softly.

I stand. "Yes boss."


End file.
